


turn on the ghost light

by thewestwinged



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast), The Adventure Zone: Amnesty - Fandom
Genre: Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Sort Of, Touch-Starved, duck is a god tier hugger this is canon facts, give the moth boy a hug its what he deserves dot jpg, thats it its just absolutely tooth rotting, there is at least 500 solid words of just hugs in here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-22
Updated: 2018-11-22
Packaged: 2019-08-27 09:41:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16700041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewestwinged/pseuds/thewestwinged
Summary: indrid hasn't had a hug in a really long time.





	turn on the ghost light

It’s near the beginning of what Indrid likes to call his  _ working relationship _ with the Pine Guard when it happens, at least for the first time. 

They have a run-in with this month’s abomination just outside the RV park, and well, Indrid didn’t have much to do, anyways. He joins the fray just in time to pull Ned away from the abomination’s jagged, bouldered fist. 

Aubrey gives him a little whoop. “ _ So _ punctual!” She cheers.

Indrid smiles, then, and it’s the distraction that makes him forget to move the rest of the way out of the abomination’s line of fire. He’s buried in a gigantic shower of rocks as the abomination’s arm comes clean off its body, which is unfortunate, but ultimately not cause for panic. Someone seems not to have gotten that message, because there’s a panicked yell from outside the rockpile, followed by something that sounds like an explosion. Then there are hands helping to pull away at the rocks, which is a sweet gesture, but really not all that necessary, seeing as he could have just slipped his glasses off-

And then Duck’s arms are around him, trembling, a little, and it’s so  _ warm _ . 

Indrid burns at every point of contact, gasping. 

Duck jolts backwards, and no,  _ no _ , that isn’t what he wanted-

“Sorry,” Duck mumbles, eyebrows scrunching together in a way that shouldn’t be as endearing as it is. “Should’ve asked.”

“I…” Indrid replies. “It’s alright.” He tries for a reassuring smile, but he’s still so caught off guard, it’s probably not very convincing. Blinking, breathing, he tries desperately to root around for a near future in which it happens again, but by the time he opens his eyes, Duck is gone. And with him, the warmth.

“Hey!” Then there’s Aubrey, taking him by the elbow, dragging him towards the truck. “Indrid! Did you see my thing with the wind? I’m like, basically Aang-”

Indrid listens, laughs at the right points, but his mind is somewhere else. A reality where Duck keeps his arms around Indrid’s chest, heavy, but gentle. Where Indrid hums, contented, and buries his face in the corner where Duck’s shoulder meets his neck. It’s warm, over there, but it’s not his memory to take, and so Indrid shakes himself out of it, presses his own cold hand to his cheek. 

It was probably a fluke, anyways. Genuine affection has never really been something offered to Indrid, especially by people who have seen his true form. And not in so, so long.

 

As it turns out, Duck is a casually affectionate person. This is a blessing and a curse. It means that Duck is likely to bump his shoulder at the punchline of a joke, or place a hand on his shoulder blades when trying to move around him in the tight space of the Winnebago. It also means that this is all of the contact Indrid gets. As a person who has not been touched so kindly in decades, it’s still a frankly ridiculous effort to restrain himself from melting against Duck’s calloused fingers.

Aubrey catches him, one day, fingers dancing across the spot on his shoulder where Duck’s hand had laid, as he thanked Indrid for another helpful tip. She snorts, a quick laugh, and then muffles it with her gloves. He narrows his eyes. “What.”

She glances around, seemingly determining that Duck is far enough away, before speaking in a tone that’s entirely too conversational to be genuine. “You know, if you like it when he touches you so bad, you could just ask.” A moment, and then her face screws up, like she’s eaten something sour. “God, that came out weird. Point stands, though.” 

And before Indrid can muster a response, she’s spun across the room, talking animatedly with Ned about some television show or another. Duck meets his gaze, and they both laugh, a sort of fond exasperation. It tugs at something in Indrid’s chest. He’s not considering Aubrey’s suggestion, because firstly, she has entirely misread his and Duck’s extremely professional relationship, and secondly, it’s not something he needs, and therefore he won’t bother Duck about it.

He wonders, though. About the feeling of Duck’s arms around him, strong and steady in his relief. He wonders and wonders and wonders.

 

And then one day, he finds himself standing outside - outside! - of Duck’s apartment, shivering violently in the relative chill. Duck opens the door, only sparing a single moment for wide-eyed surprise before ushering Indrid in, mumbling something about ‘better coat’ and ‘catch a cold’. 

“Sorry,” Indrid finds himself saying. “I… should have called?”

Duck just stares, half exasperated, half something softer that Indrid doesn’t dare name. “It’s alright,” he says. “I mean, you probably knew I wasn’t doin’ anything, huh?”

Indrid wrinkles his nose. “Not a mind reader, Duck.”

And then Duck smiles, really smiles, and it’s like the sun has come out. “I’m just kidding,” he says, and Indrid barely manages to pick his jaw up off the floor to accept his offer of something hot to drink.

God, he is in a bad way.

Duck makes him raspberry tea with just enough sugar, and moves to set his own mug down on the kitchen table. “Any particular reason for this visit?” He asks. “Not that you need a reason! But, um, you know. If you had one.”

Duck’s enduring awkwardness is a bit of a comfort, but not quite enough of one.

“Can I.” Indrid stops, stands. He knows how terribly he’s flushing, and god, he hasn’t been this nervous in  _ so long _ , the sheer amount of futures are squeezing the air from his lungs-

Except, when Indrid dares to take a cursory glance at all of them, he realizes there aren’t that many at all. In fact, there’s only one.

“Can I have a hug?” He asks.

Duck looks relieved. Like he was expecting some terrible confession. He smiles, a happy kind of thing. “‘Course, Indrid,” he says. “C’mere.”

And then Indrid is in his arms, warm and strong and secure.  _ Safe _ . 

He gasps, a sharp intake of air, but Duck doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, he cradles Indrid a touch closer, hand coming up to support the back of Indrid’s head. Indrid lets out the shakiest of sighs, closes his eyes. He melts like butter left out in the sun.

Duck catches him, always. 

They move to the couch, and Duck settles them down, so Indrid is curled in his lap, a bundle of limbs. He strokes a hand through Indrid’s hair, and it’s so  _ nice _ , Indrid thinks he might have purred, or something equally awkward. Duck doesn’t mention it. He just keeps hugging Indrid, a million points of skin-to-skin contact, like he knows that it’s exactly what Indrid needs.

“You don’t get a whole lotta this, all the way out in the ‘Bago, huh,” Duck says. He doesn’t sound judgemental, or even sad. Just thoughtful. 

Indrid shakes his head in the negative. Even the concept of lifting his head up from Duck’s chest to speak is inconceivable.

Duck hums a note of acknowledgement, shifts just a little, so they’re both comfortable. “You ever need anything, you can call me,” he says, voice a soft rumble.

And Indrid knows he doesn’t just mean physical affection. Although…

He tilts his chin up, just slightly, to meet Duck’s gaze. Duck’s hand curls around his jaw, almost an afterthought, and it burns in the best possible way. Indrid leans forward, and the future is rushing at him in a resounding chorus, but he still has to ask. “Is this alright?”

Duck tugs him down. He’s scruffy and beautiful and so, so  _ warm _ , and when he kisses Indrid it’s like he’s breathing life into him, without even realizing it. His stubble scrapes against Indrid’s chin, teeth tugging at his lower lip. Indrid leans into him, one embarrassing noise after another spilling from his mouth, and when they pull apart, he’s gasping again.

“Easy,” Duck mumbles, tracing a thumb along Indrid’s cheekbone. There’s a glint in his eyes, so affectionate it almost hurts. For once, Indrid doesn’t particularly care to peek ahead at his next move. “We got time.”

Outside, the night and the future are both quiet.

**Author's Note:**

> hey folks i dont have an explanation for this!  
> thanks to the amnesty discord i love yall  
> check me out on tumblr! im @ foxglovefemme


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